


Duty

by jonsastan (lilzipop)



Series: Jonsa Week [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Arranged Marriage, F/M, He's only called Jaehaerys for a little, Jon Snow's Name is Jaehaerys, One Shot, The Targs invade the North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 04:36:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21488449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilzipop/pseuds/jonsastan
Summary: “I offer you my surrender.” Sansa’s brother said, his voice deep and solemn.“And your conditions?” Jaehaerys replied.“No conditions.” Robb Stark replied.Dragons accept no conditions. Sansa thought- - - - - - -Jonsa Week - Day Two:  Quotes - Colours - {Tropes}
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Jonsa Week [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548010
Comments: 18
Kudos: 326
Collections: JonsaWeek2019





	Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Day two of Jonsa week and I used the prompt "Tropes".  
Please forgive my mistakes, my work is unbeta'd.

Jaehaerys Targaryen came to them still dressed for battle despite having emerged victorious. A collar of steel encircled his neck and shoulders, the crest of his house pressed into the surface, chain mail on his arms, thick leather covering his chest. He was a clean, but the smell of blood still surrounded him. 

“I offer you my surrender.” Sansa’s brother said, his voice deep and solemn. 

“And your conditions?” Jaehaerys replied.

“No conditions.” Robb Stark replied. 

_Dragons accept no conditions. _Sansa thought, the smell of burning flesh still lingering in the halls of Winterfell

Jaehaerys Targaryen had not come on dragons, that had been his brother, his aunt, his father. They had been the ones to burn the soldiers who had stood in defiance for the King who had burned their lord. 

“I do, however, have a suggestion.” Robb glanced toward her and she nodded ever so slightly. Robb had been hesitant at Sansa’s suggestion, but her cool logic had over powered Robb’s warm heart. “The North is… unsettled by the actions of your father toward House Stark. I would suggest, that a marriage between a prince of the realm and my sister would assure the North against further disruption.” 

“A marriage for you sister?” His brow rose in shock. 

_He’s not a political warrior._ Sansa thought, reading his every expression, _Despite growing up in the south_. His gaze flicked to her and she watched him take her in. 

“My sister knows her duty and does it with diligence.” Robb assured with barely concealed distaste.

“How will another Stark in the south allow the North to be secure?” 

“I would suggest my sister and the prince could take lands in the North.”

She watched as Jaehaerys Targaryen’s glance moved between herself and her brother. 

“I shall advise my father of this suggestion.” The prince stood. “But he will not allow his heir to be removed from the capital.” 

Jaehaerys’ gaze met hers, as if seeking reassurance. She dipped her chin ever so slightly. 

“We had assumed as much.” Robb said. 

Jaehaerys nodded, bowed slightly toward Robb and then herself, and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa stood in her chambers of Riverrun. It was the only place that both Stark and Targaryen could agree to have the wedding.

_As far south as a Stark will ever go._ Robb had told her. But he was not here, he was in Winterfell, safe. _And soon I will be safe in the North. _The couple were to depart Riverrun the day after their wedding to make their way to the lands gifted them by the Warden of the North, Moat Cailin.

Sansa’s breath caught in her throat when she heard a gently tap at her door. She shut her eyes for a moment and took a breath before speaking. 

“Enter.” She called, her voice calm and cool.

Her future-husband entered. For a prince, he was reserved in manner, dress, and words. He did not strut or stride with an entitled air, he spoke little and only when needs demanded, and he wore dark colours, favouring the black of his father’s house and the grey of his mother’s. 

_My aunt, _Sansa remembered with a tugging at her heart. 

“Good evening, my lady.” Jaehaerys said in his deep and solemn voice.

Sansa sunk into a low curtsy. “Your grace.” 

“Please- please, you don’t have to do that.” His cheeks had seemed to flush ever so slightly. 

“Don’t do what your grace?” She asked, her voice perfectly pitched to that tone of submissive idiocy she had noticed men liked to hear from women’s mouths. 

“Curtsy and call me ‘your grace’.” He gestured at her vaguely before clasping his hands behind his back. “Please, call me Jon.” 

“Jon?”

Her tone must have given something away for his eyes crinkled at the corners with the hint of a smile. 

“Aye. My mother called me Jon.” 

“As you wish, Jon.” She stood still, allowing him to take in his new bride. 

“Are you comfortable, my lady?” He asked. She noticed he was shifting on his feet. 

“My Grandfather had seen that I am well taken care of.” 

“Of course.” His eyes seemed to dance about the chamber, landing on object after object, unable to settle.

_Like a horse about to bolt._ She thought.

“Would you like a drink?” She asked, moving toward the table that held wine.

“No thank you, my lady.” She stopped, her hand hovering over the wine jug.

“If I am to call you Jon, you must call me Sansa.” She turned back to him, the soft and slightly stupid smile that a little lion lord had cared for on her face. 

“Sansa.” He repeated. Despite being raised in the south, he had a Northern lilt to his voice. It almost made Sansa homesick. “After the Lady of Winterfell?” 

She blinked, before nodding slightly. 

“She was a wonderful Lady.” Jon continued. “My mother told me of her. She was favoured among the common people.”

“She was loved and respected.” Sansa agreed, looking across her chambers at her future husband. “But she had to earn that respect.” Her chin rose ever so slightly. “Northerners do not love blindly or respect without cause.”

Her meaning was clear, even for someone who was not as adroit at playing the game as she had become. 

“Respect is to be earned and love must grow.” Jon’s eyes met hers. They were a deep grey and in some lights almost purple. “But even Northerners do their duty.” His voice held a question she was subtle enough to understand.

“Aye.” Sansa could feel something between them, the feeling in the air before lightening struck, or the moment before a fall. “We do our duty.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had two ceremonies on the same day. Before the gods, old and new, Sansa was now a princess of the Seven Kingdoms and a Lady married. 

The feast had begun with strained politeness as dish after dish was brought before Jon for his approval. Jon would glance at her, every time, before offering her a taste. 

She had thought to take the spoon from his hand, but he held the spoon to her lips. So she tasted the stew, noticing that Jon’s eyes were trained upon her lips. She then offered him her spoon, filled with the dish, and he took ate by her hand. They would then send the dish on to one person of honour or another.

As the food was served and wine goblets refilled the strain dissipated and a boisterous energy, common at weddings replaced it. 

“Are you well, my lady?” Jon said, leaning close to Sansa as to be heard over the noise of the feast. His breath brushed her neck and almost caused her to shiver.

“I am well, husband.” She replied, leaning toward him. His smelled of wine and food and a musky scent. She noticed his mouth twitched, as if to smile, when she said the word ‘husband’. “And you?” She asked.

“Aye.” He said, his accent wrapping around the word in a manner most comforting. “Very well.” His cheeks were flushed a little and Sansa wasn’t sure if it was from the heat, the wine, or their proximity. 

She smiled softly as she pulled away. 

The bedding ceremony was called soon and Sansa notice that Jon tensed at this. She saw the glance between the prince his father’s representative. 

_He does not approve_. Sansa realised.

The Northerners soon surrounded, pushing the more raucous Southern lords away from her. The Northmen did not paw or grab at her, but twirled her in a dance of smiles and protectiveness. 

By the time she reached her and Jon’s bed chamber she had lost her slippers and her belt, the fur collar of her gown and the hair net with blue stones in it. She smiled at the Northern Lords as they bowed their way from the room.

The doorway was then flooded with the ladies of the court and her half naked husband. 

They’d stripped him of his coat and jerkin and his shirt. He had lost one boot and his hair was slightly tousled. That caused a strange flare in Sansa’s stomach, but she ignored it, turning from the spectacle to face the dresser mirror. 

The giggling soon faded and was followed by the sound of a door shutting. Sansa turned to face Jon. He was standing next to the door as if he had not moved since he’d shut it. 

Sansa reached up and took the sapphire earrings from her ears, trying to quash the ball of anxiety that was growing in her chest. She dropped the jewelry carefully onto the table, the clatter sounding almost like thunder in the quiet chamber. 

Sansa tried not to let her eyes linger on Jon’s bare chest, moving her gaze to his face. His eyes were locked on hers. Slowly, she lowered her hands to the front lacing of her dress, Jon’s eyes following her movement. She pulled on the knot with slow but adroit fingers. 

Swiftly Jon moved across the chamber and clasped her hands in his. 

“I-I” He was stuttering as if he was as nervous as she felt. “I know Northerners do their duty.” His eyes flittered up and locked with her own. “But we need not do our duty tonight.” 

His eyes were soft and gentle and kind and Sansa believed him. 

She believed that if she said no, that if she said she did not wish to share his bed he would not demand it of her.

She raised their joined hands slowly, until she pressed her lips onto his scarred knuckles, her eyes closing at the contact of warm skin to skin. She could have sworn she heard a slight gasp come from him. 

“I have never shied away from my duty.” She said softly, her eyes finding his again. Jon pulled a hand from her gently grasp and cupped her cheek. 

“Truly?” He asked. Sansa knew what he was asking. He did not want this act to be one of mere obligation, of pure duty of obedience to the treaties and alliances of lords and kings. He wanted to know she wanted this.

“Truly.” She breathed and his lips crashed onto hers. His other hand dropped to her waist, pulling her flush to him. Her hands came to rest on his chest and she relished the warmth of his skin beneath her hands. 

As his lips travelled down her neck and both their hands tugged at the laces of her dress could only think of how delightful duty could be. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are my bread and butter. :)


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